


Like This

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Avery's POV, First Kiss, M/M, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Slow Show - mia_ugly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Based on Chapter 4 of Slow ShowAvery's POV of that first kiss. It's just a practise kiss, isn't it? Just to get things smoother for when they're on camera tomorrow.What could go wrong?
Relationships: Anthony J. Crowley/Avery Fell
Comments: 63
Kudos: 206
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse





	Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slow Show](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395261) by [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/pseuds/mia_ugly). 



> Love and thanks to MovesLikeBucky for beta reading this fever dream of a fic!
> 
> Eternal gratitude to mia_ugly for allowing us to play in her sandbox.

Avery is bone-tired; he can’t remember a time when his limbs felt this heavy and useless. Shooting has been wearing on him more and more this season; not just because of the cold or the long hours. It’s having to act as though he isn’t falling in love with Anthony that’s really wearing on him. That and seeing the confused hurt on Anthony’s face every time his dinner invitation is turned down.

When the cameras are on him, Avery can handle it. He can let that flourishing ember shine through his eyes and look at Anthony in all the ways that he wants to. Well, nearly all the ways. But as soon as Michael yells “cut”, the shutters have to come down. Avery can’t fall in love with Anthony; it’s stupid to even think it. They’re friends, best friends even. If it weren’t for the crisis that his character must suffer this season, he could have kept his longing under control. He’d managed it for the first three seasons, hadn’t he?

He’s fallen onto his bed in a heap, face down and almost smothered by pillows. There were worse ways to go, he supposes, than being suffocated to death by soft bedding. Avery tries not to think about solving his current problems by succumbing to the lure of death. He has to kiss Anthony tomorrow and he is too much of a professional to back out.

Avery rolls on to his back and sees the marks he’s left on the pillowcase; he’d washed his face before getting on the bus but clearly, he hadn’t done as good a job as he thought. This makes dragging himself off the bed a little easier. Plodding into the bathroom, Avery runs the water in the shower for a few minutes to let it get hot. He strips off back in the bedroom, laying his clothes over the back of a chair, piece by piece. He’s too exhausted to worry over his nakedness, his body just wants to be under the water and to dissociate for a while. Just not think about anything.

These hotel stays are always too long, and Avery never packs enough of his preferred body wash so he’s reduced to using the complimentary hotel soap. At least he still has plenty of shampoo to get the mud and make-up out of his hair.

The water is hitting the back of his neck and running over his shoulders in a manner that isn’t entirely unlike being touched. His head is full of Anthony before he can stop it, picturing him stroking and kissing Avery’s neck, kneading his shoulders, pressing up against his back, all these forbidden thoughts that Avery told himself he should be ashamed of.

It’s too late though, his cock is already hard and wanting and his hand wraps around it as if it doesn’t care about the disgust he feels. Not about wanting Anthony, never that. No, his disgust is founded upon the idea that he should be able to control himself, he should be able to beat this lovesick pining feeling without resorting to masturbating in the shower.

He can’t, of course. Avery brings himself off with efficient and well-practised strokes, to well-rehearsed fantasies of Anthony’s mouth on Avery’s skin, Anthony’s cock pressing urgently into Avery. It’s all rather sordid and over quickly, so as to save Avery from having to live with too much shame afterwards.

With his head pressed against the glass of the shower stall, Avery wants to weep with the injustice of it all. He’s going to have to kiss Anthony in front of the whole cast and crew, what kind of first kiss is that? Not that he’s counting on their first kiss meaning anything to anyone other than himself. Anthony won’t care, it’s just part of the job after all, but Avery wants it to be something he can hold as a worthwhile memory.

This is when Avery has what he will later consider the stupidest idea of his life (later still he will consider it to be the smartest thing he’s ever done) and gets out of the shower. He dries off as quickly as he can and dresses in his so recently discarded clothes, right up to his waistcoat and jacket. All clothing is costume; this is Avery’s. This is his armour and his disguise. Almost as an after-thought, he picks up a bottle of the scotch that Anthony likes; there’s nothing odd about two co-stars sharing a drink at the end of a long day of filming. Always think at least 3 steps ahead, have an answer for everything. It’s the method that has worked for this long.

The short walk to Anthony’s door is endlessly long, Avery nearly turns back every second step, but he makes it and knocks before he can think about what he’s doing. Anthony opens the door just a crack and then wider once he sees Avery. Or perhaps when he’s sees the scotch, Avery corrects himself.

Anthony looks almost unrecognisable in a soft jumper and sweatpants, too open and gentle. Avery notices that Anthony’s hair is wet and briefly pictures him in the shower, chasing his own pleasure with thoughts of Avery. _Push that away, be sensible._

“Can I come in?” Avery asks, genuinely fearing rejection after weeks of giving the cold shoulder.

Anthony stands aside and welcomes him in. The scotch is opened, poured, swallowed and poured again before Avery recognises the nervous energy he’s giving off. Perhaps it will help sell what he’s about to ask. Anthony watches him pace about the room, looking so cool in the armchair like he hasn’t a care in the world. He’s drumming his fingers against his glass in a quick rhythm that seems to mirror Avery’s racing heart.

“We’re almost finished, then. Won’t that be nice? Some time to,” Avery chokes on his words here, unsure of what he wants Anthony to think, “recover.” He finishes lamely.

“Expect Trace will be glad to have you back.” That throws Avery more than he cares to admit.

Anthony would hate him if he knew the truth about Tracy, Avery hates himself for it most days.

“Of course, yes.”

Stop nodding, you imbecile. You look like a puppet, Avery chides himself.

“Just have to get through tomorrow, and then – home free. For a week, at least. Wonderful.” Avery is well aware that he’s rambling, that he’s avoiding doing the scary thing now that he’s actually here.

Would it be so awful to just finish his drink, make his excuses, and go back to his room? Perhaps he could just walk out of the hotel and disappear into the night. No-one would miss him until the morning, and he could be well away from here by then. There’s an awkward pause in the conversation, which is a gracious description of their exchange so far, really. Avery bites the inside of his cheek and barrels onward.

“I think we should kiss.”

Oh well, he’s said it now. Anthony almost chokes, clearly, the thought of kissing Avery is distasteful. At the very least, it’s not something that Anthony has ever considered before.

“You what?”

Avery feels the heat of his face and, oh god, he wants to burrow into the floor and never have to look another living person in the eyes again.

“Because – because tomorrow,” Get the words out, Avery. He takes a swig of his drink, too large and too quickly, then puts the glass down only to immediately regret the loss of something to do with his hands. “It should look natural. You’re a fantasy,” _More than you know_ , Avery thought, “you’re supposed to be, uh, well-practised.”

Avery can’t look anywhere but the floor. He wants to leave, it’s second on his list of things he wants.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

Great, now Anthony’s offended by the insinuation that he’s no good at kissing. Avery is really cocking this up and still pacing, now wringing his hands for good measure.

“I didn’t mean – just – the two of us together. You know how first kisses are.” Damn, there are the words he didn’t want to use. “Sometimes. At least – perhaps that’s just me.”

It’s no accident that Avery’s by the door; his feet have been trying to take him out of the room ever since he got inside. If he’s about to bolt, about to face rejection, he’ll at least look it in the eye. Avery forces himself to look Anthony in the face and tries not to look so very needy.

“Yeah, all right.”

Relief and regret are never the easiest bedfellows and they war for control of Avery. He feels his bottom lip tremble and tenses it. _Do not fall apart yet, Avery Fell_.

“Really?” Avery just has to let Anthony have one more chance to back out.

“Sure, angel,” Oh, Avery has missed hearing that endearment these past weeks. “Wha-whatever. If it makes you feel better tomorrow, let’s get it out of the way.”

Avery tries not to think about other times he’s heard similar words, other times he’s been treated as something to be gotten over and done with.

“Okay. Okay. Just here?” _What do you want, Avery? An invitation into his bed for a night of making out? (Yes. Yes) Pull yourself together._

“Suits me.” And Anthony is standing, swallowing another mouthful of scotch and crossing the room.

Avery wants to go to him, wants to open his arms to this beautiful man who is going to kiss him and break his heart. He resists but something gets crossed in his head and he takes a half-step back into the door. Anthony looks stung, for just a fraction of a second he’s read Avery’s retreat as fear. The realisation tears at the inside of Avery’s ribs like a rabid wolf.

“I – I have kissed people on-screen before,” Avery spits it out as if it means anything. As if those situations were anything like this.

“So’ve I.”

Avery knows it. He’s watched almost everything Anthony’s ever been in, he’s seen those kisses and imagined how they felt.

“Never anyone I knew as well as you. Of course.” Stalling for time is an interesting approach, Avery thinks from somewhere in the back of his mind.

What he wants to say is far more revealing; that he’s never kissed anyone he actually cares about not on or off-screen. He’s nearly fifty years old and he’s never been kissed by someone who thought he was worth a damn.

“Know me well, do you?” Anthony’s nearly looming over him although their height difference is not that great.

The effect makes Avery feel vulnerable and small, like he’s being hunted by something all too exciting.

“I like to think so. Should make it easier. To – to -” He’s stuttering, transfixed by having Anthony’s face this close to his, to be able to really take him all in.

“Are you – this was your idea, we don’t have to -” Avery nearly lunges at him then, recognising something of worry in Anthony’s eyes and voice.

He wants to console him, to reassure Anthony that this is alright, it’s what Avery has been craving for so long. But he can’t, he can’t put that truth out there and ruin the most precious friendship that Avery has found in years.

He babbles something about drinking too fast, it doesn’t matter what he says because he’ll never remember it after the moment that Anthony puts his hand on Avery’s shoulder. They’re touching. They’ve touched before but there’s promise in this one and Avery can hardly draw breath.

“So,” Avery wets his lips and follows Anthony’s eyes, “you’ll stalk in from the woods.”

His heart is going to break his ribs right open if it doesn’t calm down. Christ, Anthony’s an amazing actor. He looks at Avery like he wants to eat him up. Avery can’t handle being looked at this way.

“I’ll stalk in from the woods.” How does he sound so calm and cool?

Avery’s coming apart at the seams just from the hand on his shoulder and the look on Anthony’s face.

“And I’ll be – afraid, probably. But – willing – willingly unwilling. Like this.”

Avery is an actor; he can turn it on when he needs to. He doesn’t need to right now. He’s terrified of this moment, of missing a second of it, of cocking it all up, of loving it too much. Looking at Anthony with this vulnerable mix of fear and desire is nothing compared to 40 years of playing the role of Avery Fell: Heterosexual.

“And then you’ll – _t-touch_ -” He breaks off because Anthony’s hand is on his chest before he can finish, and words just evaporate from his tongue.

A hand that he has spent an appropriately heterosexual amount of time staring at is curling around Avery’s throat and to his jaw.

“All alone in the woods, priesssst.”

Avery shivers. He knew the line, he’s imagined it in Anthony’s voice every time he read the scene (a perfectly normal number of times, if you happen to be falling for the person you’re scripted to kiss, he’s sure) but he hadn’t expected the hiss, the dark velvet sibilance that tightens a fist low in his belly and refuses to let go.

“And then I’ll -” Avery’s practised this expression, knowing he mustn’t look too eager and fearing that even his talents were beyond it. “And then – then you’ll -”

Anthony leans in and Avery fears that he’ll vibrate himself down into atoms and slip right through the door.

“Like this.” Anthony’s breath is warm and fragrant with scotch.

Avery’s never felt it before and as he’s trying to savour it, Anthony’s lips touch his and Avery’s eyes close. It’s so delicate, gentle, tender even. It’s exactly how Avery wants Anthony to kiss him as a precursor to something with more teeth. The touch is gone too soon but Avery can’t open his eyes, knowing the longing will flood out of him if he does.

“No, that’s too -” Anthony whispers into Avery’s mouth, “more like -”

The second kiss is more open, more wanting, almost an invitation. Avery touches the tip of his tongue to Anthony’s bottom lip.

“Like this,” Avery parrots, encouraging Anthony back into the kiss.

This is it, this is the kiss Avery needs and has needed for his whole life. Anthony’s tongue is against his – hot and urgent. He’s holding Avery’s face and taking the kiss deeper still. Avery is pinned between Anthony and the door, leaning into the kiss as much as he can without pushing Anthony away from him. The heat of his body is flooding through Avery’s chest and he wants all of it. His hands grab at fistfuls of Anthony’s jumper and pulls him as close as he can.

Instinctively, Avery knows this is wrong. He’s fighting a battle where his desire and his reason are at odds. It takes every scrap of resolve he has to stop the kiss and pull away until his head is hard against the door. Anthony’s eyes are wild and hungry, a testament to his performance.

“I wouldn’t be so -” Avery breathes and forces his hands to cooperate, letting go of Anthony’s jumper and pulling back. “You’d – you’d have to-”

Words fail him, how does he ask to be pinned to the door and kissed? All he can do is bring his hands up to the door as if he’s surrendering. And isn’t he, just a little bit?

Anthony pins him in place, gently at first as he seeks permission.

“Like this?”

Avery nods, too overcome to make coherent sounds, and Anthony’s crowding him against the door with his mouth, his chest, his hips. Their kisses are passionate, desperate, and Avery loses himself to it completely. He’s moaning and pushing his hips forward into Anthony and lacing their fingers together like this is the only thing that matters in the world. And it is, it is. With a jolt, Avery realises that not only is he rock hard inside his trousers, but so is Anthony. The soft fabric of his sweatpants does nothing to hide his arousal and Avery can feel it pressed against him.

 _You could have this; you could have him right now and he would let you._ The voice of temptation makes a chilling sort of sense, Avery could give himself over to this and Anthony would probably welcome it. Anthony’s kisses are more frantic now, responding to the hard heat between them and Avery wants it so badly to be real. He feels Anthony’s teeth graze his jaw and doesn’t recognise the sound he’s making as something he’s ever done before.

Suddenly, Avery is too far in his own head. Is he too drunk? Is Anthony responding to the emotions of the characters and not his own feelings? Could Avery cope with being a one-night thing and then working with Anthony for the rest of the show?

It was all too much and Avery’s mind becomes a blizzard of panic, a white-out of scenarios and hurt and what-ifs and vulnerability and responsibility. Anthony releases his hands and steps away before Avery is aware that he’d made a noise.

“Wait.”

The loss is painful. The loss of Anthony’s hands, lips, body, it all feels as though Avery has been torn in two. He can’t even look at Anthony despite feeling the stare he’s getting. It’s too dangerous to look back at that face, to see those lips and risk falling straight back into them.

“That should do, I think.” Hide behind the excuse again, make it better, pretend you never crossed that line. “We should be fine. For tomorrow.”

Some other words are said but Avery’s mouth doesn’t belong to him anymore, it’s Anthony’s. It’s going to be Anthony’s forever now. The door handle won’t work and he just wants to get out of this room; to get away from everything that’s confusing and upsetting. His hands are shaking too much to open the door and Anthony steps forward to help but then the door opens as if it needed Avery to be just that bit too close to him once more before walking out.

Avery’s in tears before he reaches his own room, stuffing his fist into his mouth to keep the sobs from becoming audible until the door is closed safely behind him. Avery presses his back against the door and slides down to the floor, choking on his grief and confusion. He pulls his phone from his pocket and calls the only person he can talk to.

“Az, it’s so late. What’s up?”

He stifles a sob.

“Tracy, I’ve made a mess of everything. Oh God, I’ve really cocked it up.”

“Deep breaths, Az love. Tell me what’s happened.”

“I kissed him, Tracy. I kissed him and he kissed me back. But I don’t think it was real and I’m so confused.”

“Oh, sweetheart. We can figure this out. Nothing’s ruined.”


End file.
